Tainted
by bamftastik
Summary: When Tamlen attacked the companions' camp, the Warden found herself unable to stop him. It cost her everyone she loved. She and Alistair have sworn to hunt them down, but it is only a matter of time before the taint takes them too. Yup, DA vampires.
1. Prologue

There was a time when people didn't believe in darkspawn. With the Blight ended, they'll forget again soon enough. We thought we understood them, that the archdemon was the worst of it. With it dead, the darkspawn would be little more than mindless animals. We were wrong.

The taint could take people too – humans, elves, even dwarves. I'd seen the effects firsthand. I'd seen people I love bound to the archdemon's song. There was only one way out: a quick death. But I couldn't even manage to give them that.

Duncan was the first. That's how we knew that something had changed. I can't say why we went back to Ostagar again. The first two times hadn't ended well. But Alistair, my partner – maybe he figured that with the Blight over, we could finally lay those memories to rest.

Duncan should have been immune; all Grey Wardens are, at least for the first thirty years. But Alistair said he had already begun to show signs, even before I'd met him. He'd been planning his final trip into the Deep Roads. I suppose now I understand the reason for that. No one's ever seen an old Grey Warden. But it doesn't kill them. No, that would be a blessing. I wonder how many of them are down there still.

I don't know how he survived but – whatever happened – he had managed to make it though the battle, elude the darkspawn that came after. But there is no hiding from the taint once it's in your blood. And, by the time we found him, he was something else.

Like I said, I'd seen the taint. We both had. But that wasn't Duncan. When he came striding into our camp that night, he looked exactly as I remembered him – proud, vibrant, smiling with some secret that we couldn't possibly guess. It was more than just the shadows. I thought I was dreaming.

And when he attacked us... well, I panicked. Blessed Mythal, he was quick. Strong. Certain. The only thing he shied from was our fire, but I didn't notice it at the time. It was only by chance that there were still weapons lying half-buried in the mud, only chance that Alistair's hand happened to fall upon a dagger made of silver. Softer than steel, I'm not sure who would have wanted such a weapon, but it did the trick. Alistair was never quite the same after that.

With the archdemon gone, those who were tainted were freed from its song. Darkspawn have always been mindless creatures, but those who had minds of their own before... you'd hope they'd become themselves again. And you'd be wrong.

They're quicker than us. Stronger than us. Fire, silver and daylight are the only weaknesses that we have found. I suppose I should thank the Creators that we have any advantage at all. Because, unlike their darkspawn cousins, the tainted didn't return to the ground. That had never been their place. I once heard of a woman who simply returned home after the Blight. The song might have been gone, but the hunger never left her. Half the village was dead before some lucky archer chanced to strike her with a lighted arrow.

Most of them make new lives, though, reveling in their hunger, their power. But they can be killed. And I have to say, we're getting pretty good at it.

Sometimes I wonder if it's not a futile effort. There seem to be more of them these days, as if the taint is spreading. For me and Alistair, it's too late. In twenty more years – twenty-five if we're lucky – we'll be just like them. We won't let it get that far, of course. We've sworn to end it for each other when the time comes. And – Creators preserve me – sometimes I pray that I go first.

But first, I have a debt to pay.

I wonder if he's out there. I wonder if he knows that I'm hunting him. I said I'd seen the taint before. I said I'd lost someone I love. His name was Tamlen.

He came to us much like Duncan had, but this was during the Blight, when the archdemon still held its sway. Tamlen. The withered, pitiful thing that collapsed at my feet couldn't have been the boy that I had known. But never could I forget that voice, rasping but so familiar, begging me to make an end to it. I held him there on the edge of camp, listening to his pleas, crying with him… but I failed him. I failed them all.

Wynne came and knelt beside us, thinking to offer healing. But Tamlen... Tamlen stirred at the smell of her and, before I realized what was happening, he had torn out her throat. Then he was in the camp. He cut through my people – warrior, mage, assassin, it made no matter – before I could catch my breath. And I... I let him.

I can only guess that he left Alistair and I because we're Grey Wardens. We're tainted already and would join him soon enough. But the others...

I ran and Alistair followed. I don't even know what happened to them, couldn't even bear to see what I had done. But I know they're out there. I've had word of them, every one.

And that's why we do what we do. That's why we hunt our friends. Before this curse takes me, I swear that I will find them. I swear that I will give them the clean death that I should have given them long ago. And Tamlen... I loved you most of all. Know that I'm coming for you. Know that you're going to die.

My name is Tia Mahariel and I'm a Grey Warden. I'm guilty, tainted and someday I might be just like the rest of them. But not today.


	2. Sten

The first one was easy... and, by that, I simply mean that we didn't have to look very hard. The letter was waiting for us with Master Wade, a smith in Denerim who occasionally provides us with supplies. It was he who forged my silver-threaded mail, the silver inlays on Alistair's breastplate. Weapons too – though not without complaining that he's an _armorsmith_, more than a simple blade-maker. Alistair still carries the dagger that killed Duncan, but Wade managed to work some silver into the tip and edges of his longsword and forge a similar shortblade for me. I make my own arrowheads – silver, too – even the ones that I bind and soak in oil. You can never be too prepared when it comes to the taint.

If Wade wonders at all the silver, he hasn't mentioned it. I think his partner, Herren, suspects something, but he's never done more than roll his eyes and complain that we're driving away the customers that can actually pay. That day, he was complaining about something else.

"Message for the Warden! Message for the Warden? I'm not your personal answering service, you know."

The note was short, to the point.

_I have what you seek.  
>-A.<em>

Reading over my shoulder, Alistair groaned. "That's just what we need."

There was a time when Alistair and I were the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden. It's not true anymore – there are the Orleasians rebuilding in the north, had been Riordan who gave his life to end the Blight. But it wasn't strictly true before then either. Maybe Tamlen wasn't the first of my mistakes.

As we approach Soldier's Peak, Alistair starts grumbling again. "'End the Blight at any cost.' Isn't that what you said?"

"It's what the Grey Wardens have always done."

"Right. And now the Blight's over."

I stop, turning to look up at him as our boots sink deeper into the snow. There was a time when he deferred to me in almost everything, when he was still half a child. We both were. I try to tell myself that I'd rather have this hardened soldier at my back in a fight, but I can't help but miss the way things used to be.

"It's never over."

"Maker's breath, Tia. We're talking about _blood magic_."

"Everything seems like blood magic lately. Maybe it's time we leveled the playing field."

The words are harsh, but I don't mean them to be. I've had my doubts about Avernus – have never stopped having them, in truth. Every part of me wants to turn from the fortress and run as far and as fast as my legs will carry me.

But he says that he can help us. Hope feels strange these days.

The Veil is thin here. I'm no mage, but even I can feel it whispering across my skin. Soldier's Peak is full of ghosts – more than memories, more than regrets. We've fought them, spoken with them, brokered a demon's deal that sent ripples through the Fade itself. As we pass beneath the broken gates, the courtyard is empty. Even the Drydens have fled, merchants with their own ties to this haunted place, old companions to whom I had once granted stewardship. Only Avernus remains.

"Last chance to walk away." Alistair tries a smile – another shadow of the past – but his voice is hushed and heavy and my hand's already on the weathered door.

It's cleaner than I remembered. The Drydens had at least made their way into the main foyer, stacking it with crates and doing their best to thin the encroaching dust. But there's no one here now. Nothing's been touched in weeks. Somehow, it feels colder inside than out.

"Where is everyone?"

I shake my head, slipping my bow from my shoulder as Alistair draws his sword. "You'd prefer another welcoming party?"

"Good point."

"Me, I like the quiet."

The scream seems to erupt from the very bowels of the keep, a howling moan that sends dust raining down from the rafters. I shriek, sending an arrow thudding into an old and sagging wardrobe.

It passes as quick as it had come and Alistair chuckles. Striding forward, he jerks the arrow free and hands it back to me. "What'd the cabinet ever do to you?"

"Shut up." I pretend not to notice the way his hand trembles. Examining the arrowhead, I curse beneath my breath. Bent, useless. Damn.

Neither of us mentions the scream again; neither of us dares to speculate. Yet, we move more quickly. Caution is one thing, but I get the feeling that both of us would love something to hit. Besides, we know where we're going now.

Avernus' tower is separate from the main keep, accessible only by a high, exterior bridge. It's held up well enough and, for a few brief moments, I'm grateful to be beneath the sun again. The scream comes again as we approach the final door and this time we're almost ready for it. At least I don't kill any innocent pieces of furniture.

"Avernus!" I throw open the door and step into the shadows. Letting him know that it's us… letting whatever else is in here know exactly where we are.

"Warden." My eyes haven't adjusted; the voice seems disembodied, smugly welcoming. It's almost lost beneath the panting – heavy, rumbling gasps that seem to suck the stillness from the air. Someone else is here.

The old mage strikes a match, lighting a single candle at the room's center. As I watch, the flame seems to multiply, flickering to life in the sconces lining the walls.

"Neat trick. Might be something we could use."

Avernus smiles, an unsettling and twisted thing. He looks much as I remembered him – exactly the same, actually – bald and sallow cheeked, aged beyond comprehension. It's the blood magic. Behind me, I feel Alistair stiffen.

"We mages do have certain... advantages." He paces forward, revealing the thick-legged table behind him. "To summon fire at will, among other things. Perhaps that is why the tainted took the Tower first."

I'm not listening to him; I seem to be moving forward through no will of my own, drawn to the table with its rattling and straining chains. He's bound there, writhing and growling like a great beast, testing the limits of metal and wood. It's only as I draw closer that I see the chains are silver, the skin smoking where they cut deep into his wrists and ankles, leaving a hissing gash where they wrap round that massive, heaving chest.

Creators, no. Sten.

Alistair asks the question that I should have, dividing his looks of horror between the old mage and the dying Qunari. "The Tower? They're in the Tower?"

"Oh yes." Avernus stalks to my side, admiring his handiwork. "The Templars chiefly, from what I hear. They have finally found a way to fight back against us vile mages." He rasps a laugh. "With this creature's speed and strength added to their – shall we call it – _devotion_... well, I'm sure you can imagine."

"Great." Alistair keeps his distance, but inches close enough to watch Sten over my shoulder.

He's dying; I don't know how I know, but I do. "What have you done to him?"

"We cannot expect to understand the taint unless we study it. I had a mind to write and ask for your assistance in bringing me one of the creatures, but as fortune had it this one came to me. Bound for Seheron he was and thought to spend the night in a place he knew would be abandoned."

"How did you manage to capture him?"

He smirks. "As I said... advantages."

Sten growls, twisting toward the sound of our voices. His eyes are bloodshot, teeth jagged as they seem to become in all of those with the taint. He gnashes them at me, but there is no recognition there.

"Ah. He is hungry." Avernus moves deeper into the room, disappearing into a shadowed corner.

Alistair steps close. "Hungry?"

When Avernus returns, he is dragging another chained figure by his side. The man is naked, filthy, human. When he peers up from beneath lank and tangled hair, I gasp. "Levi."

But Avernus holds up a warning hand. "You knew the price, Warden." Dragging him closer, he pushes Levi down toward the table, offering Sten his neck. It looks as though it has already been torn and healed and torn again. He doesn't even struggle.

"What happened to the rest of the Drydens?" I know the answer, but can't keep the words from my lips. Anything to drown the sound of Sten's meal.

"In order to continue my studies, I had to keep the beast reasonably healthy. You understand."

Creators help me.

"Your Levi has proved more resilient than most." Avernus steps round the table, pulling a thin silver dagger from his belt. "Of late, I have been studying the skin. They heal remarkably quickly, you see, and it is hard and cold as stone. Silver is the only thing that can truly cut it." He presses the blade against the meat of Sten's thigh, flaying it in one quick, clean motion. The Qunari bucks, but it's Levi who screams.

"Stop it!" I dart forward, but Avernus tosses the strip of skin in my direction and I catch it instinctively. I drop it immediately and Alistair doubles over to vomit.

"I thought I might make you a new set of gloves, Warden."

"You sick bastard!" Alistair's righted himself and drawn his sword.

"Stop there." Avernus waves his hand and again the flames dance, leaping from the walls to form a line across the floor. They hiss higher, ringing the table round, blocking us out. "Remember Warden. You asked for this."

We can only watch as he jerks Levi away from Sten, only scream as he smiles and buries his own face in the man's neck. Avernus' eyes never waver from mine as he drinks deep, blood running from his lips and down across Levi's naked check. When at last he is sated, he throws back his head with a hiss, letting the merchant crumple to the ground.

Still the flames dance between us. "You're one of them."

"But I could not very well study myself, could I? I am a learned man above all else."

"You said it was blood magic."

"And so it is, in its way. The same and yet not. I've merely found that the taste of living blood does much to keep the taint at bay. It is something you would do well to consider, Warden."

"What!" Alistair darts forward, sword flashing, but Avernus only sneers as the flames leap higher.

The old mage laughs.

"Alistair!" I pull him back as he reels from the fire, whispering close in his ear. "Just keep him talking."

He looks at me helplessly, but moves again toward the barrier. "I always knew you were crazy, but if you think we'd even consider _that_..."

"And why not, boy? You've already lost. Don't you want to live forever?"

The table is sturdy – it would have to be to support Sten's weight – and the chains are thickly forged. But where the two meet... I can just spot the rings that the chains are looped through, the brackets already loosening where they were melded to the wood. I glance toward Avernus, see the intricate patterns he is working in the flames between him and Alistair. It's now or never. Andruil guide my hand.

I whip the bow from my back, nocking an arrow before either of them can turn. It streams through the flames, but finds its mark and I'm already saying a silent prayer of thanks as I nock the second. Sten howls as I free a leg and then an arm. That's all it takes.

The table collapses as he twists sideways, ripping his other arm free. It's slow that he staggers to his feet, but Avernus' flames have done their trick. We're on the outside of the ring; he and Sten are trapped within. My old friend looks down at him for a long moment, chest heaving still, eyes wide and wild. One huge hand wraps round the mage's shoulder and suddenly he seems a small and frightened thing. When the arm is ripped away, the scream is unlike anything I have ever heard.

It's not a slow death. Sten doesn't feed, but when he is through there is nothing of Avernus left. What few bits of flesh weren't scattered into the flames blacken and turn to ash – the way their kind always die. Alistair looks away, but I force myself to watch. I did this.

When it's over, Sten bends double, panting. Now is the moment. It would be nothing for those long legs to step through the flames and finish us both.

Raising his head, he looks at me. I can't read his expression but, then again, I never could. Straightening stiffly, Sten turns and steps across the barrier.

But he moves slowly. I watch as the flames seem to wrap round his ankles, trailing with him as he comes to stand before me. I realize I'm holding my breath. He could tear my head from my shoulders now and it would be no more than I deserve.

When he falls to his knees, I gasp. He buries his head against my middle, burning still, twitching with the pain of it. Oh, gods. I pull away carefully, kneeling before him, surprised to look up and see his features twisting openly.

Drawing my blade from my side, I hesitate. But Sten sags, resting his head against my shoulder with the faintest of whimpers. I drive the blade home.

I hold him until the ash takes him, spreading from fire and silver both. It seems the flames died with Avernus, sputtering low as Alistair helps me to my feet. I approach the remains of the old mage slowly, fishing in his blacked robes to find the silver dagger and tuck it into my belt.

Alistair follows my lead and begins gathering up the chains. It's a moment before he finds his voice, but I know the question even before he asks it. "He was a Warden..."

"Yes."

"So that's what's going to happen to us?"

"Not if we don't let it."

He hesitates. Dropping the chains, he closes the gap between us, pulling me into his arms. I rest my head against his chest, but find that the tears won't come.

We'd killed Sten. We'd kill them all. And the only solace left is the knowledge that we will one day kill each other.


	3. Wynne

Alistair and I aren't the only hunters out there. People have an amazing capacity to be willfully blind, but they're not stupid. The taint was spreading. They were bound to notice loved ones missing and neighbors changed. And when so many lose so much, odds are some will step up and fight back. It never ends well.

Whether he meant to or not, Avernus had given us one more thing. We knew where we had to go. South and west we followed the road, stopping once again on the coast of Lake Calenhad.

"You really think we should believe him?" Alistair asked, not for the first time.

"Maybe. But it's not like we have anywhere else to go."

"You think it's Wynne." He's perceptive, I'll give him that. He can see the Tower in front of us, knows that one of our friends is a tainted Circle mage.

I smirk, nodding for him to follow as I start down the path to the lake's edge. The small cluster of buildings that I remembered are clearly abandoned. It's too much to hope that the boatman would still be tied up to the pier. I walk along the length of it anyway, measuring the distance to the Tower far out across the empty water.

"I just... he said it was the Templars. And why would she come back here anyway? If you spent your whole life locked up someplace and then found yourself with that kind of power, would you go back?"

"I would." The voice answers before I can speak, my head jerking up to see a shadowed figure beside the pier. "I'd go back and burn it to the ground."

Alistair's hand goes to his sword, but I wave it away, stepping in front of him. The speaker steps onto the pier and I see he's perhaps a bit older than us, his sandy hair long and loose, his smirk charmingly crooked. He's handsome... and oddly familiar. But my eyes are all for his gear.

The silver gleams against his dark robes, hidden just beneath his cloak. As he moves to hide the pair of daggers at his belt, I see his arms, the strange fingerless gloves with their red and silver runes. There's a fresh burn mark beneath one elbow.

I've realized why he looks so familiar and lean back toward Alistair. "It's like a dangerous version of you."

"I'm... dangerous."

I chuckle, but the stranger's looking between us. "You're not wrong about them. They are _powerful_. But I'm guessing you knew that." He nods to my silvered mail, to Alistair's still-brandished sword.

"You too,...?"

"Anders. Mage, wanted apostate and..." He grins. "...Templar hunter."

Alistair quirks a brow. "_Templar _hunter?"

"It's not what you think. Well, it is. But it isn't. They're... different."

"Tainted by the darkspawn," I supply helpfully.

Anders blinks in surprise. "Tainted by... well, I guess that makes sense."

"You didn't _know _that?" Alistair claps a hand to his forehead. "What were you, just killing them for fun?"

The mage opens his mouth, thinks better of it and shakes his head. "I just knew that they were suddenly quicker, stronger. Rougher, the last time they tried to bring me back to the Circle. After I, erm... after I escaped. I barely got away."

"And then you started hunting them." I shake my head. "I see you figured out about the silver."

"And fire." He steps back, bringing the strange gauntlets together with a clap. A gout of flame shoots skyward and he staggers with the force of it, seeming to barely snuff it out. He bends to catch his breath. "Don't forget fire."

"So that's what you're trying to do, then? Burn it down?"

"What? No!" He straightens, striding again for the end of the pier. "I'm just looking for stray Templars. They still come across here sometimes. You're friend's right; no one would want to come back to a place like this."

"We do. Can you get us in?"

"I... even if I could... that place is full of Templars. _Tainted_ Templars."

Finally, Alistair sheathes his sword. "So? Take the fight to them."

"That would be suicide."

"This isn't exactly a profession someone picks when they want to stay alive." I quirk a brow. "_Can _you even get us in?"

Looking out toward the Tower, Anders sighs, shaking his head with a wondering smirk. "I've escaped seven times. Of _course_ I can get you in."

* * *

><p>We slip across the water in a narrow boat that Anders' had kept hidden in the reeds. It's slow going, the oars muffled, and by the time we reach the other shore the sun is already lower than I'd hoped.<p>

"Do you think we have enough time?" Anders asks. "They sleep by day, but by night..."

I shake my head. "Not all of them sleep. Some are just sluggish. We could stay here, but do you really want to be in the open when the island starts crawling with them?"

"Guess not."

He leads us to a grate at the waterline. We've at least timed our arrival with the tides. Anders pries it open with practiced fingers and we slip beneath the Tower. The water's waist-high, the way dark but we follow the mage and reach the end of the tunnel without incident. There's a ladder here, a round door above us which he pushes aside with a grunt.

It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden glare as we emerge. We're on the first floor. The Tower Chantry. Funny that after last time, the screams don't seem out of place.

Two Templars have a young woman pressed back against the altar, her robes marking her as an apprentice. From the way they're snarling and gnashing their teeth, it's clear what they are too.

"Hey!"

One of them yanks on the woman's arm, paying no attention as Anders strides forward.

"Hey!"

The other Templar turns with a growl, turns just in time to see the wave of Anders' hand before it bursts into flame. At its howl, the other drops the girl but the mage dances closer, whirling to drive one of his silver daggers into the Templar's throat.

As the bodies writhe and blacken, Anders helps the girl to her feet. "Go." She does.

I can't help but smile. "Nice."

He offers me a bow, bending to retrieve his blade and wiping it on his robes. After a moment's thought, he gives one of the bodies a kick, smirking as it crumbles.

"I coulda done that," Alistair mumbles as we turn for the door that will take us deeper into the Tower.

But when I push the door aside, I stop short. A dozen Templars turn as one, snarling, hissing, brandishing weapons.

"Oh Ma—!"

Before Alistair can speak the Templars pause, stepping backward on heavy, shambling steps, clearing the way. Still they growl and pant, straining against some unseen force, but they make no move to stop us. I step carefully into the room, passing close enough for one to snap at me, but I make it to the next door as Alistair and Anders hurry after.

Alistair glances backward, keeping a wary eye until the next bend takes the Templars out of sight. "Why does _that_ worry me?"

"You'd rather we have to fight them?"

"I'd rather not fight whatever's holding them."

He has a point, but if my previous visit to the Circle taught me anything, it's that we'll find what we're looking for at the top.

We pass other Templars along the way, mages too, but all stand aside as we pass. They look no more pleased about it than their fellows downstairs, their faces contorting in pained hunger. It's strange. We've seen tainted humans, but these are almost mindless, little more than darkspawn themselves. This is something new.

When we reach the highest floor, I begin to suspect why. It streams along the walls, pulsing golden, a familiar wave of light. But it's threaded through with shadow, slithering across the surface, twisting the eyes. I move forward slowly, ignoring Alistair's warning as I run my fingers along the stone.

I shudder. "Tainted. Anders, don't touch it."

"Not a problem."

Alistair steps to my side. "What is it?"

"You don't recognize it? 'Regenerative' she said it was, a healing wave. Now though... I don't know what this is."

"Wynne." His eyes go wide. "The spirit."

"I had hoped that it would somehow make her immune. That maybe it would have fought the taint, or that maybe she would have just died. Maybe the others would have turned on her when she didn't change. Maybe they would have ripped her apart. It would be better that way."

"Have I ever told you that worry me?" Alistair tries to make his tone light, but I'm not laughing. So many times I'd imagined her death, hoped for it.

But Anders is behind us now. "Um... guys?"

There's a clatter of plate, the echo of shuffling boots. The Templars and mages have followed us, cresting the stairs but paying no more attention to us than they had below. They move past and I share a look with Anders as we follow their progress. The procession leads to an inner door; there's nothing for it but to follow behind.

"Really? We're really doing this?" Alistair draws his blade, shaking his head as I ignore him.

The door is thrown wide, but the light cascades across the opening. The tainted seem to pass through it without harm, but I hesitate. "Anders..."

"You're not leaving me here."

"Fine." Steeling myself, I step through. Alistair follows.

After a long moment, Anders comes through at a run, some sort of iridescent shield blooming around him. He shudders as it winks out, rubbing at his arms as though wishing he could scour off his skin. I know the feeling.

But the sinking in my stomach is something worse. The room is wide, round, empty save for a tall stone chair at its center. And the Templars, the mages... they stop where they stand, falling to their knees in a strange sort of muttering reverence. For they still growl, would still turn in an instant and kill the lot of us, but the creature in the chair draws them as surely as she draws my eyes.

I can't look away. I don't want to.

"Tia."

Wynne comes slowly to her feet, resting a hand on the arm of the Templar at her side. I recognize this one, Knight-Commander Greagoir. His eyes meet mine and I see my recognition mirrored. He's truly tainted, I realize, not like these others.

But I'm moving forward now, I can't help it. Wynne's different, every step seeming to glory in her newfound strength, hips swaying in a way that might make even Morrigan blush. Her white hair gleams long and free, her robes snuggly fitted, her slippers tall and perilously pointed. She's young again, or at least feels that way.

"Wynne. You look... good."

She throws back her head to laugh and it's a magical sound. The lighted walls pulse with the beauty of it. "It is kind of you to say so. But I fear I must apologize. I did not know that it was you at first. I would not have wished you to be attacked."

The courtesy throws me for a moment, I have to admit. I shake my head. "What are you doing here?"

She smiles, the same kind and knowing smile that I remember. "This is my home. This is where I was trained to control my powers, where I was later saved by that nameless spirit that is with me still. I have to admit... when first I woke after your friend's attack, I was panicked."

My friend. My Tamlen. I still my features.

"I knew that there was something inside me, something dangerous... or potentially so. I returned in secret, turned myself over to Greagoir." She nods to the old Templar. "He might have killed me then and there, but he was... merciful. Loyal."

The man flushes, even now.

"At first it was an accident. I did not mean to hurt him, to share this taint. But it was Greagoir who made me see. We became the same then, he and I, the same hunger, the same fate. No more were we Templar and mage, but something new."

"Oh, no..." Alistair lays a hand on my arm, head swiveling to take in the others.

Wynne smiles. "Hello, Alistair."

"Uh... hi." He leans close, whispers in my ear. "We should go."

But Wynne only chuckles, pacing away. "This spirit... it is a benevolent thing. Capable of so much wonder, of healing, of restoration. It was a simple thing to let it spread this gift as well."

"The light. It turns them." I pull away from Alistair, following her.

"It does."

"But it's not a 'gift'. They're monsters, can't you see that?"

She turns, blinking at me above that knowing smirk. "No more so than you or I. And in this way, they are under my power. I will not let them hurt you."

"But they will hurt someone. They have to; it's their nature."

"It is." She sighs, turning back toward her chair. "That is why we must do more. That is why we must all become the same."

No...

"Think on it, Warden. No more Templars, no more mages. No more borders and no more war. We will all be the same." There's fire in her eyes as she turns back to look at me. "I can make this happen."

I laugh – of all things – I laugh.

Wynne glowers. The sudden change is horrifying, but I'm laughing still. Her heels echo as she closes the distance between us, but Anders is at my side then, his hands flaring as fire dances between his fingers.

"No closer, you mad old bat."

"Anders." Her smile is a twisted thing now, showing all her teeth. "Back again?"

"You might say that." The flames flare as he puts himself between us.

But it's Wynne who laughs now, waving delicate fingers to channel a thin stream of ice. The fire winks out and her hand wraps round Anders throat, lifting him off the ground before either of us can move.

"Wynne!"

She pulls him close as his legs kick feebly above the floor, his eyes rolling in wild panic. Her gaze meets mine as she buries her face in his throat. Anders make a feeble grab for his daggers and she pulls away with an exhalant gasp, wiping the blood delicately from her lips with the back of her free hand.

"You always were eager to leave." Her arm jerks upward, pushing him away with such force that he smashes through the window across the room. For a moment he seems to hang suspended, desperate eyes meeting mine before he plunges down into the water.

My mind barely registers the shock of it before locking to the angry red of the sky, the setting of the sun. We don't have time. I know in that moment that we're going to die.

"Alistair!" He seems to catch my meaning, brining his blade up before him as he charges Wynne.

But Greagoir puts himself between them, sword meeting sword as Alistair is thrown off balance. He's stronger but Alistair's on his own. I've pulled my own shortsword and am charging after Wynne.

She simply returns to her chair, the peaceful demeanor returned and only somewhat marred by the blood smeared cross her face and hands. I glance behind me, knowing that at any moment she could free the others and end this farce. But her gaze is only for Greagoir and Alistair, watching with a sort of calm detachment.

I level my blade at her throat. "If I kill you... what happens to them?"

"I suspect they will die." She tilts her head to look up at me. "Can you live with that on your conscience, Warden?"

"I already do."

"Think of it, Tia, the world that I could create – that _we_could create. It is only a matter of time before the taint spreads. Before it takes you, too. This way, we can make a peace."

"Your peace."

"And yours."

"This is my peace." She doesn't fight me as I drive the blade home, only smiles that gentle smile.

The screams erupt behind me, one louder than all the rest. Templars and mages alike are writhing, dying, but Greagoir whirls away from Alistair, charging me instead. The distraction is enough. Alistair slips behind him with a swing that takes off his head.

He crumbles instantly and the others are already growing quiet. Only Wynne remains, the light returning to her and wrapping her round. But there's no healing this. It fades as we watch; her death looks gentler than most. At least she's still smiling. I trace a finger along her cheek, trembling with her as it crumbles to ash.


	4. Zevran

You might wonder why Alistair and I never took more comfort in each other, why we never embraced that feeling of reckless abandon at the end of it all. We're the only ones left, the only ones who truly know what it is that we face. And we face it alone. The Orlesian Wardens… well, with the Blight over they think the threat has passed. We've stopped trying to convince them.

It's just us. Traveling together, sleeping beside each other, even huddling for warmth on the coldest nights. It's not that I haven't thought about it. It's not because he's a _shem_– I accepted that long ago – or that he's unappealing. It's not even that I still hold some loyalty to Tamlen – though, considering some of the things that have happened, I almost wish it was. It would be so easy to slip away somewhere, to give up the fight, to live out the rest of our days... together.

I remember what it was to give into it, to seek that desperate sort of comfort, to find another to fill that void. But it's never been like that with Alistair; it never will be. Besides, he's never really forgiven me for Antiva.

When we learned that Wynne had returned to the Circle, that Sten had been trying to return to Seheron, it wasn't hard to puzzle out where Zevran had gone. Rumor of five dead Crow masters was enough to confirm my suspicions. And so we traveled north, taking ship across the Waking Sea, eventually taking rooms above the canal district in the heart of Antiva City. Despite his obvious misgivings about leaving home, I can't help but think that Alistair was more worried about me.

That first night, I stood in the window with the shutters thrown wide, breathing in the salt of the sea, the musky stink of the city below. "A gem," Zevran had called it and I can almost hear the whispered echo of his words. In a way, I suppose it's an apt description – glittering all over to hide the flaws beneath, lighted as if for an eternal carnival. He had wanted to show it to me. We had talked about it, the adventures we would have, lying together in the musky dark of my tent. I never truly believed it, but it was nice to pretend. I suppose it's ironic that I've come here to kill him.

But the city is quiet, the streets deserted. Even I can tell that it's strange. Antiva City had lived with the Crows, had lived with a fear that they could at least understand. This was something different. Those few who I do glimpse on the street below move on hurriedly, disappearing behind shuttered windows and bolted doors. An old, hooded woman leads three children, all holding hands as she pulls them along. I almost want to laugh. The only deaths we have learned of so far are the Crow masters, a few high-ranking underlings. Could the tainted discriminate? Could Zevran? If anything of the man I had known remained, perhaps these people had nothing to fear.

Pride, freedom, immunity to pain… after I left home, after all that had happened, nothing had seemed more beautiful. He was nothing like Tamlen and, really, that had been all it took. There had been a strange sort of nobility there, unafraid to see things for what they were. But even Zevran had to know that Antiva's neighbors were already looking to its borders, that with confusion amongst the Crows, the entire country had become vulnerable. Already rumors of war are brewing. But I have to wonder if he'd care.

As the woman pulls her brood past, a rush of air washes over my face. A lone figure stands where the children had been, tilting his head to grin up at me from beneath lowered brows. Black leathers and golden hair, but by the time the shock of it hits me, he's gone. I blink, leaning out to look toward either end of the street. Nothing. I shudder.

I close the window and, after a moment's thought, slip Avernus' silver dagger through the handles of the shutters. Alistair has the room next door and I wonder again if it might have been wiser to share. In fact, he almost insisted on it. I couldn't tell you why I'd pulled away.  
>That night, I dream. It's something every Grey Warden learns to recognize, even if we never quite get used to it. They've been quieter since the archdemon's death but this is a nightmare of a different sort. I'm back in Ferelden, in the close darkness of my tent... and I am not alone. Zevran rises above me, smirking down as he pauses to study me. Even on those nights that we had lain tangled and spent, he always looked on the verge of chuckling at some secret jest. Once those smiles had put me at ease.<p>

He does laugh now – barely a whisper – and my skin crawls. But I can't look away. He's cold, I realize, even as my legs wrap round to pull him close. He buries his face against my neck, newly jagged teeth nipping but never breaking the skin. They move to my ear, whispering slithering words that I cannot understand. He's warm now; why had I ever thought he was cold? I arch my back – remembering, savoring – and for a night, things are almost as they were.

What can I say? Old habits die hard. Besides, it was only a dream.

I wake to tangled, sodden sheets and am suddenly grateful that Alistair and I didn't share a bed. It's a moment before the breeze hits me and I look up to find the shutters of the window thrown wide. My dagger is resting neatly on the bedside table.

I don't mention the dream to Alistair as we begin our day's hunt. The tainted are weakest by day and we've found that many of them create nests of a sort, secure places where their daylight rest will not be disturbed. I lead the way, starting our search in the richest districts of the city. We use the sewers where our way is barred, slipping beneath the guildhouse of the Crows, the manses of the masters that Zevran has killed.

"Do you really think he'd stay here? I mean, it's obvious, isn't it? And too well lit. These sewers seems endless, though, and the canals..."

I snort. "Think of who you're talking about. More likely, Zev will be sleeping in the finest room he can find, probably on the bones of some dead master."

Alistair scowls at my familiar tone and I have to turn my head to hide my flush.

"There are tombs beneath the Chantry. Dark, abandoned. It's certainly dramatic enough."

Now he's thinking. I force a chuckle. "Can you really picture Zev— Zevran sleeping in a Chantry?"

"I guess not."

We do check the tombs, finding nothing, of course. Alistair wants to try the docks but it's already growing dark and I'm suddenly exhausted. But I want to find him, I do. Whether from embarrassment or guilt, the dream has left me driven. Even Alistair notices, but I brush aside his concerns, the arm that he offers me as we make our way back to the inn.

He sits down to eat in the common room, but I make an excuse and retire early to my room. He notices that too.

Again I bar the window with silver and again I dream. It comes quickly, the same as before and I'm terrified to find that I almost welcome it.

Nearly a week we stay in Antiva and every night it is the same. My daylight searches for Zevran's resting place become more vigorous and the dreams keep pace. I'm scratched and bruised, but never in any spot that Alistair might see. Still, he worries and wonders if we might find the city's Circle, find someone to offer healing. He thinks I'm turning, I realize, that the taint has caught up to me early. I assure him that the weather merely disagrees with me. I even cough a bit for emphasis.

On the fifth morning I wake to again find the window open, to again find my dagger on the table. But this time something sits beside it. I pick it up gingerly – an earring, and one I've seen before. Zevran had offered it to me once and I had turned him down. I can't say why, but now I slip it onto a spare boot lace, hanging it round my neck beneath my tunic.

Another day passes without success, though the path we tear through the city is almost frenzied now. Soon enough Alistair's going to grab me by the ear and _drag_me to one of his healers, I can tell. But Zevran gets to me first.

He's waiting for me that night. I step through my door to find the window open, sense him at my back a heartbeat before he wraps his arms around me. Creators, that strength. But he steps away, circling slowly round the edges of the room, daring me to admire him. I had thought him graceful before, but now he is living shadow, living silk. And yet that smirk is still the same.

"You are hunting me."

"I am."

"And by day." He tsks. "It is hardly fair, hm?"

"When have you ever played fair?"

He's on me then, moving faster than I can see to pull me against him. One hand forces itself roughly between my breasts, pulling free the earring to hold it dangling between us. "Do you still think that you are dreaming, Warden?"

"I am going to kill you."

"I would not have it any other way." There's a chuckle on his lips as they cover mine and – Creators preserve me – I'm giving as good as I get, pulling him back toward the bed. He pauses only long enough to remove his boots, sitting them neatly beside the window and suddenly I'm laughing with him.

When morning comes, I'm more sore than I have ever been, my body a ravaged and aching thing. But never have I felt so alive, so determined. Even Alistair's questions die on his lips as I push past him and out into the sun. I know where we are going now.

I turn away from the uptown districts and head instead for the docks, for the warehouses that wait beside them. I wasn't wrong; Zevran has always prided himself on his taste. I simply forgot that taste can be a unique thing. I follow my nose as much as the stories he once told me, sharing a silent nod with Alistair as we stop before the building. We can sense the darkspawn, sense each other, sense the tainted. But this is something more, a certainty that makes my stomach go cold. We stand before a tanner's shop with apartments above, the whole street stinking of leather.

Alistair goes round the back while I question the owner about other entrances. He's an old man, barrel-chested and strong and he doesn't hesitate to lunge for the sword that he keeps behind the counter. I have to hit him, knocking him unconscious. Of course Zevran would have paid him well.

But Alistair's found an old cellar entrance in a side alley. It's an easy thing to break the lock, even an easy thing to walk down the narrow, creaking stairs.

The crates of tools and barrels of bleaches have been pushed along the walls, the rest of the space given over to a long box of thick-carved wood. Light-sealed, it would be; we've seen its like before. Alistair gives me a wordless clap on the back, but I step away, motioning for him to be ready to open the lid as I silently unsheathe my blade. I nod.

Zev was right; it hardly seems fair. Inside the box, he sleeps stiffly on his back, fingers twined together. He looks dead – naked to the waist and colorless as porcelain, the tattoos that I'd been dragging my nails across thrown into sharp relief. There would be no marks there of course, not for him, but I don't doubt that I will carry the scars he's given me for the rest of my short life.

It's the smile that draws my eyes, that peaceful smirk on the verge of laughter still. This time, at least, I know the joke.

I plunge my dagger home, driving it through his chest, holding it there as he wakes with a bucking gasp. The flames spread outward from the silver, blackening the skin of his chest and it's with a great and jerking effort that he twists his head to look up at me. Again, he grins.

I watch, kneeling as the effort splits his cheeks, the markings there seeming to blacken and spread. A tainted death is never pretty, but I suspect this one will haunt me more than all that we have seen. I'm not wrong.

When nothing more remains, I stand, ripping the earring from my neck and tossing it into the box before turning for the door.

"Let's go home."


End file.
